gapes wide
enough for me to see
for barely no time at all.
The things left unsaid.
The gleam in your eyes
opens with
a whistle and lets me hear
for a dollar or less.
The things left unsaid.
The fidget of your smile
alludes to secrets
real enough for me to touch
in the palm of my hand.
The things left unsaid.
The whisper of the rainfall
cleans ruins
allowing me to taste
no hinting involved.
The things left unsaid.
The hovering sweat on your brow
draws sand pictures
pointing me to smell
even the scentlessness of.
The things left unsaid.
How about we say them
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